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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!))
Prince | Iota-Specialized NPC
[The return of the hosts is met almost immediately by a sensation almost identical to the one they had felt in the short few moments before they had arrived in the space above the Waypoint. The buzz could almost be confused for the adrenaline already flowing through their system, for the staccato rhythm of their hearts, but the rest- that deep inhale, that moment of anticipation, that is unique. It is a tension that, very suddenly, snaps, and the Station is again in the space between. It feels lighter here, in some strange way.
Not that the hosts may know it, and not that Prince or Cathaway are there at that moment on the deck to explain it. In fact, it is almost ten minutes after the final ship had settled up to rest on the floor of the hangar deck before Prince arrives, straight shouldered and as tall as he ever was. He is also, completely and utterly, exhausted, showing it in small ways, in how he blinks slightly too much, in how his pace is even more measured than usual. When he comes to stop at the ship that contained their prize(s), there is a tremor in his hand as he presses the button and opens the hold of it.
He may not be at his best, but there was, as always, work to be done.
The prizes- with the help of others or not- must be loaded out, and he must find the thing he knew that he would know when he saw it. This thing that would protect them. It was his duty and it was a simple one at that, but sharp eyes may find he would benefit from help. Especially with the motorcycle.]
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Cathaway | Rho-Specialized NPC
B. THE CIRCLE GARDENS
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A
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a
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B
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no subject
[ annabeth gets the feeling she's not in kansas anymore. not literally kansas, obviously; they left topeka behind days ago, and thank the gods for that. nothing against that city, but any place where they run into gaea, malicious spirits of the dead, and their old camp director isn't on annabeth's list of top ten destinations.
no, the last thing she remembers is rome -- arachne's lair deep under the city, dark and crammed with tapestries, the crumbling floor barely keeping everything from tumbling into tartarus. and did she mention the vengeful spider woman? arachne and her children, an army of disgusting creepy-crawlies, and...something wrong. something out of place. someone had promised to help her, and now...
she's quick to rip out the tube -- gross -- and slower to assess her belongings, taking quiet inventory of what she has. the pajamas get stuffed into her pack with everything else, as much as the clean clothes tempt her. she can worry about changing once she knows what's going on.
it's not that she doesn't hear the voices in her head or feel those emotions. it's that she can tell herself she doesn't until she awkwardly clambers down the ladder, favoring her good leg. then? they become more than impossible to ignore. the rush is so overwhelming that she has to steady herself against the ladder.
annabeth's filthy, covered in dirt and dust and who-knows-what-else, spiderwebs matting her hair and clothes. what'd used to be an orange camp shirt and jeans are ripped and equally dirty. she'd discarded her makeshift bubble-wrap cast in the pod, but she's still clearly limping as she starts to slowly walk. despite all this, her grey eyes burn with ferocity. and when she can't take the noise in her head anymore, she turns and snaps -- ]
Just shut up already!
[ maybe she's yelling at you specifically, or at thin air somewhere near you. she wouldn't put it past some god or spirit to try to drive her crazy this way, just saying. ]
» the station
[ annabeth does, eventually, get cleaned up. the weird white pajamas don't make much of a fashion statement, but at least they aren't covered in spiderwebs. it could be worse: there was that time she decked out in clothes from a defunct theme park's gift shop when she was twelve and on her first quest. how ares and aphrodite found waterland, she doesn't want to know; but she doesn't dwell on the thought. thinking about the things she did with percy and her friends makes her feel homesick, and she refuses to mope.
first thing's first: she has to know her surroundings, which means exploring the station. it's slow going with her ankle, but she refuses to let that stop her. her belt might look a little incongruous with the pajamas, but it means she can keep her bronze dagger on hand; and holding onto her pack means she doesn't have to worry about the other stuff from home going missing. her hand strays to the hilt at her belt more often than not, and she's more than ready to draw it if something attacks -- or if she's startled. ]
» wildcard
[ feel free to ping me so we can plot something or to tag me with your own prompt! annabeth can be found anywhere around the station as she explores. i'll also match prose or brackets, no problem. ]
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The Station
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Ilde Option
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wildcards myself a mental link i do what i want
talking into stranger's brains is rude, god!!!!
get used to it annabeth!!
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the station
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station
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hey boo
heeey
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the station
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the station
lexaaaaaaa
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station/wildcard
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[ Asuka comes back to herself slowly. It's a gradual rise, one that accelerates the closer she gets to the surface, a rush of sensation and stimuli as she finally wakes up. It reminds her of the moment she came out of the red, red sea or waking up from a deep sleep. She sits up with a swift gasp, hands clutching at the edges of the pod she's found herself in. The pieces in her memory begin to fit back together as the sickening moment of not being sure of who she is passes.
She's Asuka. Always will be. She knows that. It's why she crawled out of the primordial mass. It's why she's here. Her throat works in a slow swallow and she tries to take stock of herself. A hand brushes through her hair, fingers tracing over the empty socket of her left eye with a slight flinch. And then the tube that tuns into her head. She remembers a man and a n offer, but this is different. It's like some sort of weird hospital. With a grimace, she yanks the tube out.
The cacaphony that hits her for a split second overwhelms her and she doubles over until the moment passes. They're in her head. Why are they in her head? The emotions wash over her, she sucks in a few sharp breaths, grits her teeth, and banishes the mental buzz. Or tries. With trembling hands she pulls herself over the edge and then skids down the ladder. Her legs won't quite support her and she slips, hitting the ground with a thud.
A wave if angry cursing (and the accompanying emotions) hit every other host in the room. Woops. ]
b. I wandered lonely
[ The other new hosts can only distract her for so long. Asuka wants to see more of this place. For some reason it reminds her of NERV HQ in its unnerving emptiness at times. She needs time to think. To clear her head, even with the low-level hum at the back of her mind. It's unnerving. Stupid. Having other people, having their emotions tugging at her is awkward and strange and she hates it. It reminds her too much of being examined and picked apart, of being forced to confront her own demons.
She wanted badly enough to be her to come back. She's not going to let herself lose that now. Of course she's also alive. That's better than the alternative. Much better. She's stalking the hallways of the labrynthine station, poking into rooms and examining what she can in a detached, numb sort of way.
Her wandering feet bring her to the gardens and there she pauses, eyes wide. There's... green. After the desolation of red and grey it's a relief. One she's not sure she wants to feel. She wanders deeper, climbing into one if the higher tiers. She perches there, feet dangling over the edges and just soaking in the life. There's an intensity to her emotions, a roiling turmoil underneath a thin, brittle facade of calm.
Doesn't stop her from harassing the next person who comes by. ]
Hey - what's the point of this place?
c. Mayday (closed to Misato)
[ Something is wrong. She's only just arrived, but she can feel it. She's not sure what it is or what it means, but some has disteupted the background him that's apparently a part of her life now. Asuka doesn't like any of it, but she can't change it, so she's simply been on edge, snappy and quick to anger. There's something else; a sense of familiarity that drags at her and she stubbornly tries to find it, tugging on it like one does a string, pulling herself hand over hand toward it until she reaches the rec level and the dining areas.
It's not until she sees the familiar hair and shape and face that Asuka realizes who and what it is she's been trying to find. The color starts to drain out of her face and for a long moment, she can't say anything.
rage anger hate regret loathing despair resentment ]
What are you doing here?
[ She's still dressed in the white they gave her, a red plugsuit tucked under one arm. Her left eye is covered by a medical bandage, held in place by tape. Otherwise she looks exactly as Misato remembers her.
d. Wildcard
[ Pick your own! ]
Ilde Option
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b.
Re: b.
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/music starts
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b
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I DO WHAT I WAAANT
BRING IT ON
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B
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b.
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d-ish some time after the misato fight
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Aloy awoke with a start, head swimming as she jerked into consciousness. She had reached out to take a hand, answered the need to live. Where was she? She blinks against the gentle white light of the chamber she's in and reaches for her focus on instinct, trying to see what's going on around her. When she doesn't feel it, there's an instant of panic, then she feels the tube in her neck. Hissing under her breath, she tugs it free. It doesn't hurt but as soon as it's free...
Both hands clutch the sides of her head as world seems to crowd in on her. It's louder than the markets of Meridian, sound crashing down on her along with waves of emotions. Anxiety. Fear. Uncertainty. Joy. So much, like the wind smashing down trees. Thankfully the sound fades a little after a moment and she's left with an uncertain feeling. As she tries to leave the pod, she comes up short as she sees her things neatly piled and folded in a cubby. Hurriedly, she retrieves them. Focus. Clothing. Bow. Lance. The set of white clothes she leaves and wriggling free of the pod (or whatever it is), she clambers down the ladder onto the nesting deck.
Aloy looks around her in confusion, head buzzing with emotions that she knows aren't her own. She reaches up to touch her focus, activating it. It shows nothing--nothing useful, anyway. It can't seem to find a network to connect to or any information to display about her surroundings.
Anyone looking at her might just see a girl touch a hand to the side of her head and looking very, very confused. In fact, she's broadcasting her confusion in a loud, obnoxious manner.
"Where is this place?" That question is more for herself than anyone else, but someone else might overhear.
âž³ day :039 the station
With her lance over her shoulder, Aloy is staring in wonderment at the station around her. She can feel people around her, the way they think, their emotions. It's so loud to her. How does she shut it off? She closes her eyes, trying to focus only on herself. The bright points of others emotions make it hard to do so.
"Be quiet." She murmurs it to herself more than to anyone else, but the feeling--the desire for calm, the confusion, the anger radiates out from her in waves.
"Be quiet!" Aloy grits her teeth. She can't think like this. She'd never known how much she enjoyed the peace and quiet of her own mind. Aloy misses the focus that came without the sudden background noise of what must be dozens of other minds. She crouches down, both hands clutching the sides of her head. She needs to focus. Needs to pare down the noise so she can think again.
âž³ Wildcard!
Ilde Option
Re: Ilde Option
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Shepard Option
Re: Shepard Option
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the station, that's cool!
Re: the station, that's cool!
lmao whoops there was supposed to be an if in there
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station
Re: station
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Seviilia Option
Re: Seviilia Option
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nesting deck
Re: nesting deck
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station
Re: station
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Wildcard!
Re: Wildcard!
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the station
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Station? Station.
Re: Station? Station.
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the station!
Re: the station!
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(closed for bellamy)
It has little to do with each of them individually. The Darkling had sworn to her with all his sincerity that he would not descend into the depths, and yet. He returns to her only a body, not a mind, replaced so quickly by new hosts. Ilde will greet them all, but she expects most to tumble back beneath the waters from which they arose. Her own mood has stabilized in acceptance of these facts, in contemplation on her own place within this crusade.
It is what it is.
But she knows who will be hurt most by Aleksander's fall. The twin who had awoken with him...
She waits in her garden for him, when he is ready for the peace and the quiet, with her. ]
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no subject
[Seviilia had not noticed the lack of windows until she longed for one to stare out of. The interior of the Station suddenly makes her skin itch, everyone and everything seems impossibly loud, and her usual response to stay numb appears to be malfunctioning. A corner of her mind that had begun to feel familiar and warm is suddenly missing.
In spite of the fact that the danger has passed, she stands guard in a room deep in the station, far away enough to keep from any mistakes she might make out of this newfound feeling. Grief, she imagines -- something close to it, as if anyone would be able to feel grief for the loss of The Darkling. After living hundreds of years, losing memories, and existing in a perpetual void of various pains in death, she cannot differentiate them anymore. All she knows is one thing, and that is that the hand at the other end of the familiar bond has gone, leaving only a faint buzzing and an open wound.
It makes her hungry, but her usual source of feeding has departed. Its a feedback loop that nearly leaves her paralyzed, pressed to the wall of the cold catacombs. There's a certain feeling of creeping dread that permeates from her, spreads like a poison through the link they share, the feeling of a chain slowly slipping from one's grasp off the edge of a cliff.
Too soon. Too few creatures who understood the consumption of raw power, an addiction she needed to feed to keep from going insane. Her most potent source, ripped from her. She fights to mourn in silence (for all would die eventually, as she would continue on in the curse of undeath), rime creeping over her armor as she stands still as a statue.
She hates him.]
b. hungry (cw: nudity)
[To anyone hoping to use the pool -- well, she isn't exactly sorry, but the gardens would hardly survive her presence for long, and she has come to respect Ilde too much to enter them. Instead, in an effort to better manage her mounting levels of hunger and frustration, she takes to the pool.
She was a hulk -- capable of lifting things twice her weight, thanks to her unfortunate circumstance of undeath, but that only made feeling weightless somewhat distracting. The swimsuits are ignored. As far as she knows, no one has bothered to make much use of this wing, and there is no modesty to be had for a body that is dead, much less one of elven birth.
Seviilia sticks to one corner of the pool, runes across her body causing it to glow idly beneath the cloud that has begun to form from the difference in temperature. She has done the favor of putting her back toward the door, so anyone who enters is not immediately discomforted -- but its clearly an afterthought, given how she completely ignores any foot steps that move past the wing.
Were she not already dead -- well, it would certainly be hard to tell if she was still animate, given how she seems to refuse to move a muscle in spite of how the water keeps her floating.]
b -because im an ass
pats that ass
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b
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a
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Ilde Option
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cw: gross
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no subject
[Elation is not an emotion that someone like Lexa is bound to feel at any given moment, but she's not one to be entirely untouched by the success of their mission. Yes, there were aspects of it that went poorly, but she can't help but be relieved by the fact that they worked together and abandoned the pointless tournament in the process. She had been eager to coach her fellow hosts in the tournament, but she quickly found herself out of her comfort zone. As a host, Lexa often finds herself displaced there, but—
This had been too much.
That they had managed to accomplish something, that she had managed to help, that she had managed to use her training—all of these are good things in her book. Though some of her happiness may be because of the bleed from other hosts, Lexa is in denial of the fact. She's satisfied by what they've accomplished.
But it's why she's having a celebratory drink. The bottle in front of her is something she found stored away on the ship, and while the taste of it might be awful to some, Lexa's upbringing in a post-apocalyptic society hasn't made her the most discerning of individuals. Anyone who might find her at the counter in the dining section of the Nest, with a glass or three extra at her side. They aren't poured yet, but she's quick to meet the eyes of anyone who enters, unblinking in the process.] Care to share? It's customary at times like this.
b: books books books
[One of the most unsettling parts of where they just were was the constant evolution of culture. Lexa knows that she comes from a world where "culture" had been erased and largely swept away, but her people still maintained some aspects of what existed before—and clung to who they were after. Even here, she has been reluctant to give up aspects of herself that could be defined by being a member of her people.
The books she obtained at Waypoint Shiril are nothing special, all things cast aside or left there to easily be forgotten. But she had managed to grab them just the same, and keep a copy or two on her in her escape. Her return to the library is to offer these books over, especially as she has no use for them.
There's something solemn in her demeanor as she acts, but her mind is quick to reach out and recognize anyone who might join her. Greetings may follow. (They will.)]
c: wildcard
[Up for anything else! She trains a lot, reads a lot, and spends a lot of time observing while meditating in the Rec Wing.]
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Christmas in ???
The smell of cooking hot dogs, tomato sauce, and garlic mingle with something almost like clove and cinnamon in the kitchen. Wreaths made from the branches of strange, alien plants in shades of green-blue are up on the walls, and there’s hot drinks of something like cider and what could be mulled wine, if wine was made from fermented alien fruit instead of grapes.
More wreaths and lights are up in part of the rec area, and here can be found a decent sized tree, with purple colored needle-like leaves that feel like silk to the touch. More lights are on the tree, along with ornaments of colored glass in abstract shapes, twisted pieces of metal, soft plush figurines of alien animals, and a many pointed star rests at the top of the tree. Underneath are wrapped boxes that, if opened, contain things like gloves and scarves that may or may not be meant for a human, books that may or may not be in any recognizable language, and candy that may or may not be anything like sweet.
[ Feel free to use this space as a prompt for playing out anything you want with weird alien Christmas-y decorations! ]
OTA!!
II. Chestnuts
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III
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1
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iii (sorting)
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i. deck the halls
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WILDCARD!
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II. COOKIE
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iii
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ooc: Christmas Gifts!
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[closed to Kavinsky]
The peaceful feeling he'd woken up with felt just as unnatural as the rest of this place. Derek can't ever remember a time when he was peaceful, and he doesn't know what to do with it. There's so much he doesn't know what to do with, and frustration spreads out around him, mixing with the voices that are coming from nowhere and the feelings he doesn't know what to do with and getting his hackles up.
He lingers in the Nesting Deck, ignoring the clothes laid out for him and staying in his ripped up jeans and t-shirt. The pod is the current focus of his attention, and he's standing on the ladder leading up to it, bent over so his upper half disappears inside. There's the occasional sound of muffled cursing, and his unshielded jumble of thoughts and emotions make it clear he's attempting to figure out how it works and contemplating trying to rip it open. ]
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open
[Whiteness blinds Nyx as he comes to, waking from a darkness that wasn't quite that dark at all. He runs his fingers through his hair, threading out the braids. His tattooed fingers finally reach the tube at the base of his neck. What the hell? He couldn't stay here, attached to whatever that thing is. Smart or stupid, Nyx grips the tube.
The pull is almost nauseating. There's an implication there, something sinister that reminds him too much of the war he's been a part of since he was in his twenties.
It's as if he came back from those memories, fully awake and alive, to those days of old where he could still hear his sister screaming for help, where he could still smell the fire and taste the gasoline of Nif airships.
But it's worse. A riot of words, or were they really words at all? Whatever it is, it swarms his mind like an incessant buzzing, loud and droning. If he squalls, Nyx doesn't notice. He's too busy gripping his hair and head. In the mess of... whatever it is, there's something familiar in the roar. A pull. A feeling of crystal and ash. A sharpness and clarity like electricity.
Nyx finally forces himself to swing his legs.
His legs. The legs that had been shot out by former allies. He glances down and finds his uniform is just the same as it had been: grimy, sweaty, knees caked in blood with two perfect holes. There's no scar or even a wound when he runs his fingers over the holes. Nothing at all.
It's then he realizes just how damn out of place he is in this pristine, perfect white pocket. Black, purple, silver, gray, and admittedly kind of wretched makes him stick out like coal on snow. So, with some effort, he changes, and discovers he feels no better than before. What does it say about him he's too used to the leather and metal of the Kingsglaive uniform?
He moves up and out, clutching his clothing, weapons tucked between the folds of the uniform. Nyx does his damned best to focus beyond the buzz. His wounds might be healed, but there's definitely still some grime on his face, a hardness and roughness to the faint lines on his face. The first person he comes across? Sorry, he's going to pointedly flag you down.]
Hey, you mind telling me what this place is?
[His blue-gray eyes flicker in an effort to just focus. The determination on his own behalf swells, unwilling and unyielding to lose himself in the sea of whatever is going through his mind.
Otherwise, you might want to tell him he should go wash his face. He hasn't seen himself for the better part of 36 hours.]
autopilot // the bridge
[Nyx finds himself on the bridge, or what is said to be the bridge. None of this is at all what he knows. He adapts, though, as he always has, always will, just to survive, to see the next day.
It doesn't mean he won't question it. Adapting is not the same as acceptance. Adapting means changing yourself to find a new way to live. If he had accepted years ago, he would've never joined the Glaive.
The quiet on the bridge is welcome, though the noise of his mind still goes on. Despite having woken up from whatever that was, Nyx can feel the exhaustion of the battles start to settle in.
With no one around, so far as he can see, Nyx leans on the wall and lets his weight slide him down to the floor. His wrists settle on his bent knees.]
Just another day.
[He says to no one, but simply reminds himself. It's another day. No home, no tether. This is just another place to pass through.]
anything goes
[New kid here, he'll be exploring so run into him wherever.]
the bridge
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the bridge
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Annie Option
annie pls
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hatch
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barges into his head
how... nice of him...
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Ilde Option
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OTA
[You know, you'd think getting back to the station after a mostly successful heist on a random ship in the middle of space would be more cause for celebration. Or, if nothing else, more than a slow, weary sigh, and an arm propped up against the ship he just flew back.]
[He's still in armor. Still leaning against the station's shuttle when he feels it. When he feels the sudden sundering of a connection. It's abrupt and sharp and he suddenly can't breathe. It is like the loss of a limb. Like the tearing of bone and flesh and ligament. Searing and sharp and all-consuming. Like bright lights overhead and dark figures and pulling, ripping. It hurts.]
[It hurts so much he's clamped his left hand over his right arm. Over where metal and flesh meet under his armor. As if the dark hands in memory, made of loss, made of missing are still threatening to pull it away.]
[He can't shield, he can't move. He's just reeling, leaning against the side of the shuttle like it's the only thing holding him up.]
[... because they've lost the Darkling. Just then. And it's all he can think of.]
ii. DISTRACTION
[Sometime later, after cleaning himself up, after running across a few new arrivals, he's... trying to put himself back together. Trying to distract from the loss. From the dull ache pulsing along his arm.]
[Grief in a physical form. He's not entirely sure what to do with that.]
[So he's in the workout room -- or making coffee in the kitchen. Somewhere he's familiar with. Idly lifting a weight with his human arm -- or stirring dark liquid in a pale cup. The other arm stays at his side, still and motionless. Metal gleaming sickly in the light. Self-seclusion. So the tide churning in his head doesn't pull anyone else down with it.]
[The new arrivals don't need it.]
[But should anyone approach, he'll do his best to shield his thoughts from them. Do his best to assist. It's a distraction.]
iii. wildcard!
[Hit him up wherever or whatever!]
ii
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ii (not too long after i if that's okay!)
THAT'S FINE
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ii.
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ii/iii. can't be tamed
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no subject
[Waking is an odd sensation, muted like that moment before you surface when the water seems to push and pull at the same time. Helen remembers the mission, the Abnormal she'd been hunting, the creature hunting her. And then...someone else had been there. But how had she gotten here?
For a minute, she just breathes. Then her fingers find the tube at the base of her neck. It comes free with a slight pop, or maybe it only feels like one because she doesn't think she could possibly hear anything with the sudden rush of noise and emotion crowding in on her.
The chaos dulls, taking the initial flash of pain with it, and Helen takes a second to orient herself before easing out of the pod.
Her upper leg has completely healed. How long has she been here? She gathers her small assortment of belongings from the cubby at the foot of the ladder, opting to keep her own clothes over the, admittedly somewhat cleaner, white outfit that's also been left there. They're still in reasonable shape, apart from the set of ragged tears across her right pants leg.
Right. Time to explore.
She'll stop the first person who doesn't look as confused (or overwhelmed, as much as she hates to admit it) as she is with that soft and polite English accent.]
Excuse me. Could you tell me where we are?
(Day :039) -- The Station
[The buzz of emotion, familiar and not, ebbs and flows around her as Helen makes her way through the station, exploring as much of it as she can. She prefers to be aware of her surroundings. It isn't quite like anything she's ever seen, and she's seen a great many things in her lifetime, and yet it feels like...perhaps she knows it after all.]
Fascinating.
Wildcard!
The Station
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Station!!!
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station
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nesting deck
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( CLOSED TO BELLAMY )
He might have stumbled, if he'd been standing. As it is he tightens his grip on the strays of his seatbelt, edges digging into his palms as the world shifts, drawing unfathomably far away, colour and sensation leeching out. The immediate disorientation makes his head swim, but even as that settles, everything still feels-- detached. Empty.
The ship finally landing barely registers. Annie and Noctis disembarking, dulled, distant. Murphy loosens his grip from the seatbelt, thinks about how he needs to unbuckle it, to get up and leave. He stares at the buckle instead, the shape of it suddenly seeming alien, removed. Not worth knowing.
He doesn't move.]
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