[training log] we are the champions

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day :44
SUMMARY: 1988 Crystal Light National Aerobic Championship.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

DAY 44 begins without ceremony, the station quiet and still, the murmur of host's minds distant. Even with all of the current new hosts returned from their mission the station is too large to ever really feel lived in. It is almost peaceful, when the call comes.

The voice is nothing like Cathaway's, who is so often in the young Host's minds, but then again Prince was rarely so warm or inviting, and in the days he has had to recover from the Station's recent jumps he has returned to his more stable state, his tone perfectly matched to his speech, seeming as near as if he is speaking just over their shoulders.

'Good morning. I would like to encourage all hosts, most especially those fresh to the station, to join us today in the Training Wing. This resource is not to be underestimated, as it will not be available to you when you are on assignment. Attendance is recommended.'

With that simple message he is again gone from their minds, leaving them alone with their own thoughts- and anyone else who shares them. Left behind is the impression of how to reach the Training Wing, in case anyone is unaware.




FOR THOSE WHO CHOSE to follow the call and make their way to the Training wing, they will find Prince, once again adorned in his traditional uniform. He has beside him a small stack of charcoal grey jumpsuits identical to it beside him, for any host who had not previously made their way to the wing.

For those who are familiar with the space he simply nods to them and leaves them to their own devices, unless they should chose to approach him for more than simple encouragement. For those who are new, he will direct them to the lockers and give them the honeycomb textured jumpsuits, which will fit them perfectly. He will also give a brief explanation of Iota and Rho symbiotic types for those who need it ((as outlined in the setting)) and go into the basics of the specialized abilities all hosts develop. He will not divulge the exact ability that a host possesses at that time, but may be persuaded to with some difficulty. He will then suggest that they set their mind to learning what they can aboard the station, and let each host know that he only teaches the willing.

After that, the space is theirs.

---

((OOC Notes: Welcome to the second training log! Below you will find some information from the first log, which is now also available in the setting section!

The Training Wing is large- bigger than the biggest gym, and it contains a number of specialized spaces for Host’s use. What follows is an (incomplete) list of amenities. Have an idea for another space? Drop us a line in the questions section of the most recent calendar post! The training wing itself is a central hub-type area with a number of hallways that branch out in a vaguely spiraling fashion spanning multiple levels. Below are a list of locations key to this log:

• Lockers - Featuring rows of open cubbies, shower spaces, a bathroom, towels, and sets of shoes for those of you without proper footwear. Hosts visiting the lockers for the first time will receive their station-standard charcoal grey suits, which are tailor fit to their exact measurements. These suits are flexible, strong, and surprisingly breathable, and are comfortable enough to wear all day.

• Track - Centrally located there is a large running track that is multiple lanes wide, the ground of which is coated in some sort of slightly rubbery, gripping substance.

• Gym - Located not far from the lockers is an almost traditional gym space, with a number of pieces of exercise equipment, some of which is familiar and some of which is not. There are instructions that will read in a pleasant voice if you seem lost. You will find both strength and cardio equipment arranged in a somewhat sensible manner.

• Training Hall - A large open space with a number of pads on the floors and walls and a wide variety of dummies and protective gear. This is the space where you will find melee practice weapons ranging from swords and pikes to slightly more exotic weaponry- all blunted or dulled- as well as room for most forms of martial arts.

• Range - Lying closest to the Flight Hangar, this room features a number of targets and projectile training weapons. Here you will find everything from bows and arrows to laser guns. Nothing is capable of doing real damage, but it feels and reacts in a way that’s very real. Handy readouts will tell you exactly how accurate (or inaccurate) you are.

• Pool - It’s a pool, there are lanes, so swim free. Please don’t drown. There is no sauna. There are two styles of suits available, a simple charcoal one-piece with white piping, and an equally simple charcoal swim briefs with matching white piping.

We're in control, body and soul,
We push ourselves to the maximum!!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ It's an easy thing to get caught in. Sam's only open as much as other people seem to be able to deal with, maybe just a little bit more, just enough to push. Despite how he might come across, he usually doesn't actually want to overwhelm people, and he's good at keeping things back.

Maybe he should feel guilty for letting go a little now and overwhelming the kid like that, but he doesn't.

He huffs out a soft laugh at Kavinky's question, leaning forward and concentrating just a little bit harder to activate his symbiote ability from a distance, taking away the headache. He wouldn't bother, normally, but if they're gonna do some mental training, he doesn't want to make the headache worse. ]

Well, I do talk to birds. [ Is he joking or being serious? Who the hell knows. ] Pretty sure my job description ain't exactly on the list of Disney approved princess occupations, though. You ready to do this?

[100mitsubishis]

[Well, I do talk to birds.

Kavinsky doesn't want to snort, but he does, and once it's out there, he owns it as he does every stupid thing that comes out of his mouth. Besides, he trusts that Sam wasn't lying to him about the point of this meeting. It's not a matter of implicit faith; they share a Hive mind, Kavinsky would be able to suss it out.

Being honest isn't against Kavinsky's nature. It's the other good traits that go along with honesty that he's never given a solid swing at.]

Wouldn't have come here if I wasn't. Go on. Shoot.

[He hasn't moved from his bent position, but his voice is the sturdy drawl that means he's comfortable again.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ His grin widens, just a little bit pleased at Kavinsky's reaction.

Sam himself is very nearly always honest, for better or worse. It's just that sometimes his honesty means that people don't look too closely about things he might not be saying.

At the moment, though, he's got nothing to hide, and he opens their connection wider so Kavinsky can get a look at how he keeps people out. He's done this so often now that it's barely a thought to visualize the rolling cloud layer that makes up his representation of shields, pinks and golds gleaming off fluffy white or jagged streaks of lighting jutting across dark grey and purple. The clouds fade with the sensation of sinking deeper, dissolving into mist before they disappear entirely to reveal the folded wings of his secondary defenses. Then he pulls them back up, slow and careful, more about letting Kavinsky get a feel for how he makes them than anything else.

Then he nudges gently at the kid's mind. ]

Part two is me coming in there to shore yours up a little.

[100mitsubishis]

[Sometimes, Kavinsky mistakes Sam for the living essence of a kindergarten teacher; sharing is caring and all that bullshit; early naptimes for the troublemakers. The thought persisted when Sam approached Kavinsky with the offer to help him build up those mental walls, obfuscating unbridled kindness in the pretense that it simply made sense.

But it's not always like that. Once in a while, a glimpse of the soldier shines through, and Kavinsky wants to know what war looks like without having to place himself in the front line. What would he see if those clouds weren't so densely packed? What misery lies beneath the radiant smiles when the defensive wings are plucked and deep-fried?

He doesn't know. He doesn't try to push it during lesson one.]

Good luck.

[The way Kavinsky has kept himself himself is less clean and easy to put on display. Instead of barriers, he's depended upon his mind's natural pathways, as easy to follow as a dirt road in the middle of a monsoon. They crisscross and dip. There are dead-ends of dreams and thoughts he never quite finished; half a car engine, three bottles of a fantasy six-pack. All the important bits are toward the center of the labyrinth and take time to suss out.

It isn't impossible, but it's a trip most aren't willing to take the time on. All the barbed wire and cherry bombs usually leave an impression.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Kavinsky isn't the first, and he won't be the last. For all that this is a hive mind, most people are pretty damn content with their initial perception of someone and don't go looking for things that might counter it - unless it's shoved on them.

Sam hides very little of himself, but it could also be said that he hides a lot, because of that. ]

I don't need luck.

[ Mostly because he's not actually looking to break through anything, just press mercilessly at all of Kavinky's weak points, but it's more fun to just shoot Kavinsky a little grin as he focuses more on their connection. Sam's mental presence flows over and around Kavinsky's mind, like a warm rush of wind seeking out any hole to gust through, anything loose to tug free. When he's met with confusion and resistance and dead ends, he doesn't linger, sliding on without attempt to move forward. But when he finds a clearer path, tucked out of the way and forgotten, he presses, draws Kavinsky's attention to it to strengthen it.

The more he pulls Kavinsky in, the wider their connection gets - the quieter the rest of the voices of the Nest grow. ]

( You had enough for today, or want me to keep going? )

[100mitsubishis]

[Sam is air and air can squeak through the cracks. Kavinsky isn't quick enough about chalking up the nooks and crannies that most would slip by instead of breezing into. The dead ends are useless when Sam fills them up then smoothly moves on without expressing a hint of frustration. For the first time, Kavinsky frowns, his expression turning severe and heavy-lidded.

His Brood remains a back beat, eternally linked tighter than the rest, but Sam's flowing into a equal status. He's there, in the places Kavinsky has done well to keep to himself. Misato prods at them, but she's so direct he can build up a thin wall around that one bit of him that needs protection. This is more like an invasion, but soothing. Troops that never stop showing up along his shores but bring baked goods and a warmth to melt him.]

( I'm good. Keep going. That can't be all you got. )

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ A soothing invasion hell yeah. It's easy to pull up defenses against an outright attack, but Sam's not here to test those. He's looking at the whole picture here, at touching every part of Kavinsky's defenses. Still, he waits for Kavinsky's response, not pulling back but not going any deeper - and then he smiles, slow and pleased.

He's already learned that touch helps make the connection stronger, and now he reaches out to press his fingertips to Kavinsky's leg, absent, as he flows deeper into Kavinsky's mind. He pushes their connection open so wide that the rest of the Nest fades into the background, so distant as to barely be there - but in doing so, Sam is suddenly so much more present than he's ever been.

There's a hum and a blur, and then it's less that there's a mental link connecting them and more that they're occupying the same mental space.

Sam's mind isn't quiet. It's alive, warm and vibrant even with its steadiness, a sense of confidence and security in knowing who he is without ever forgetting the journey that he took to get there - but there's an undercurrent of something else. An echo of what had once been chaos, something dark and empty and hollow that's always there. Never gone, but faded, learned to live with even if he sometimes struggles with complete acceptance. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[Sam's a paradox; he connects to so many members of the Hive in a way Kavinsky stalwartly refuses, but he's himself. Completely himself, maybe, and that makes K want to tear him down to base components. He should have Damon's idiotic obsessions crying a woman's name in his head. Misato's complexities and complexes making him jitter and creak. Everyone else, yelling, needing, lusting, hating, fucking each other's brains out but never in the fun way--in the way where Kavinsky has to drag himself back from the edge five times a day.

His maze crumbles. The foundation's cracks spiderweb and weep black ooze.

He slaps his hand onto Sam's wrist and grips it. The first push back. Sam wants to teach him walls, but there's something he's better at, isn't there? War. And Kavinsky's always been attracted to the sound and smell of gunfire.

The labyrinth condenses, then stretches out with spikes and pitfalls. Cruelty that most kids his age reserve for MMOs, but Kavinsky has found a way to work into every facet of his being.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ If Kavinsky wants to see him down to his base components, this is probably the closest he's ever going to get. He hadn't meant to widen their connection this much, to shut out everything else in the Nest, but right now - right now they might as well be the only two people here, hovering in this shared space.

The contact only makes it more intense, though Sam doesn't move to push the kid away.

Kavinsky thinks of war, and it's there. It's diving into a storm-torn ocean, lungs screaming and treading water for hours to keep his head above the waves and his limbs from going numb with cold. It's crouching behind an overturned car, sun glinting hot off dusty metal, gun in hand and med kit at his feet and a soldier at his side that looks more like hamburger meat than a person, switching between trauma care and picking off any enemy combatants that get too close with an ease that belies the certainty that his PC is not gonna make it, the copper tang of blood mingling with the sweet scent of lilac. It's dodging and weaving in the sky, untouchable, tearing the jets chasing him out of the sky with their own weapons. It's the feel of a knife in his hand, stride steady and body moving as though gravity bends to his whim on the ground as it does in the air, knowing exactly where to slash and where to kick to steal a gun and send a man flipping over the edge of a bridge.

It's the sound of screams and not knowing who they belong to, the dying gasps of a man you were sent to protect, the dead weight and hollow eyes of a man you were sent to kill.

Sam lashes out, fingers curled around the back of Kavinsky's neck - touch achingly gentle, at odds with how fast he'd grabbed him.

You find what you're looking for? It's not words, not even mental ones, more of an idea or an impression - but as connected as they are at the moment, it's as clear as anything. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[War as Sam knows it isn't war as Kavinsky knows it. In a literal sense, he's only seen a couple movies; Saving Private Ryan and Saving Private Ryan while stoned out of his mind. There was a lot of screaming in those, but he couldn't sense the rawness of the soldier's throats. He wasn't made to remember--as if the memory was his own, not borrowed, not foisted upon him--the beating sun while men are turned into globes of tenderized skin and bone and human mush. For a second split, then split again, he knows the weight of Sam's gun in his hands. Heavy. He doesn't think he'd be able to lift it the way he recalls Sam could. Can.

Wind is everywhere, howling like a wolf pack, so elated to be alive. Faster, faster, he's nosediving down and he doesn't realize how far he's tipped over his own knees until he's pressing his forehead to Sam's arm. His sweat against Sam's arm.

He doesn't know how to answer that call. What was he looking for, again? Defenses. Right. But when he calls them up, they're weaker than before, an office 'Zen Garden' sand maze. An ant could figure the way from one side to the other. He's gasping.

Sam might see his father. Can't have that.

The howling wind changes to the rev of a car engine, roaring. No thoughts, only now, now, now. That's why he takes the drugs. They keep him now.

His skin to Sam's arm.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Despite the violence and death and pain, Sam is at ease with his memories. He is who he is, and he's a man who'll shoot who needs to be shot and save who needs to be saved.

Sometimes they're both the same person.

When the kid pitches forward, Sam catches him, pulls him in by the back of his neck until Kavinsky is all but in his lap, arm wrapped around his waist like steel and fingers pressing into the skin of his neck.

No, they can't have that, can't see his father - whose father? The dead one, which one is that - the one that he hides.

Sam doesn't pry, doesn't go where he isn't wanted, never does more than push a little - but right now he wants to push a lot. Right now he's curious, right now he wants, and there's the sensation of fingertips over the back of the spine as he dips into Kavinsky's mind. Let him have it.

It's a murmur, a whisper in Kavinsky's ear even though Sam doesn't say a thing outloud.

There are better ways to stay now. ]