hatch log, ota

[dbag]

CHARACTERS: Rhys and [insert your name here!!]
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: Day 166
SUMMARY: Desecration of perfectly good PJs, crapping of diamonds, and peeping.
WARNINGS: nunzo

( A ) NESTING DECK

[ It's the last one. It's only right that we both open it. That's the best part. It takes a moment to register that the walls around him are the Station's and not the Vault's — he blinks once, twice, to reorient himself. No stranger to cables and wiring in his body, he unplugs with little fuss, like it's just another day. There's only something wrong once the headache comes barreling in, a sudden dull ache all over like there's something inside his head trying to push and claw its way out. Internally bemoaning the unfairness of pain in exchange for such a simple action — if you're not supposed to unplug, they should put up a sign — Rhys scrambles for the cubicle, starkly empty save for two items: one familiar, the other foreign. He pockets the stun baton before inspecting the clothing.

Plain white pajamas befitting a mental patient. While in no position to judge anyone's fashion sense, he's offended at the suggestion he dress in them all the same. What's next, he wonders, onesies? In spite of his better sense, he makes the unwise choice not to take the only other clothing offered. (He'll wear the same gross clothes every day, and he'll look incredible, thank you.) Instead of gathering them in his arms to take to Life Support, he takes one last look at them before balling them up and throwing them down the ladder. Good riddance.

He chucks them further and more forcefully than intended, but there's no sound of cloth hitting the floor. Rhys listens for a moment, perplexed, then climbs down the ladder to investigate. No pajamas on the floor, he notes, entertaining the idea that they were so ugly the lord smote them out of existence. They still very much exist, but not where he'd expected. When he makes his way off the ladder, he spots them, not on the floor but hanging on a human head, having hit them directly in the face. It can't have hurt, and although he'd be annoyed for the rest of the day were he in their shoes, he feels an apology is unnecessary. Or maybe too much effort, what with the headache and nearly escaping death with a daring rescue and all. ]

You can keep those.

[ He inclines his head and clicks his tongue, as if he's doing them a favor. In reality, he'd rather just see them gone. ]

( B ) HALLWAY

[ The Station is so sparsely populated it almost feels like a ghost town. It seems intended for hundreds of people, but they must be coming fashionably late to the party. He almost expects it to echo when he idly calls out. ] Helloooo?

[ No one answers, as expected. He stands in awkward silence for a moment, with nothing to do but stare at the walls. A few seconds pass before, in 'Good Morning Vietnam' fashion, he shouts, ] Goooooood morning, Station! [ As before, no response — he smiles like a kid who's just been left home alone realizing he doesn't have to wear pants around the house anymore. Pacing in this hallway, he can say anything. The others could be anywhere, but most importantly, they aren't here. ]

I have thirteen toes! [ A pause. ] I crap diamonds! One time, I made out with a duck!

[ As he reaches the end of the hallway, he turns and realizes he's not as alone as he thought. There, at the distant other end, stands a person. He'd likely have noticed their arrival had he not been shouting nonsense into the ether. Deflating, he grimaces.

Nonchalantly: ]

—Oh, heyyy.

( C ) LIFE SUPPORT

[ Life Support is the least strange part of the Station, which is oddly comforting. It's a 'take what you can get, beggars can't be choosers' situation; on its own, it's still peculiar, but compared to everything else, it's a hotel room in a goddamn five star resort. The lack of doors is the most puzzling part of all. Why have doorways without doors? It shouldn't be so surprising, given that the theme of tonight's event is togetherness, but it still seems a violation of privacy.

Violation or not, it doesn't stop Rhys from spying. He rationalizes that he's trying to see which rooms are occupied, but the truth is he's hoping for entertainment. Maybe he'll eavesdrop on some nasty gossip or find out who's got a newly bloodied knife on their bed. Unfortunately, he lacks the stealth required to be a proper spy. While he'd love to backflip around the hallway and limbo under invisible lasers, it isn't in the cards. His snooping around is hardly covert, and he makes little effort to hide it. If they weren't supposed to look in, after all, there would be doors. He's doing his civic duty.

Hope you don't mind someone stopping to peek in your room. ]

( D ) WILDCARD

[ do whatever you want! choose your own adventure! go hog wild! if you need me, i'm at regnant. ]

Comments

b

[adamance]

[The moment she had felt him awaken, she had left her quarters with some purpose. After her initial introductions when they all woke together, she realized that things would be different. She realized that they were different, after sensing the two new Hosts while they were on Avera-9. She's felt another since, but recognizing that he wasn't a part of her brood, she left him be. She would seek all of them out sooner rather than later, but she felt a certain responsibility to those who would pry into her head all the more easily.

When she rounds the corner and finds him detailing his relations with a duck, she merely slows to a slow, unimpressed trot, arms coming up to cross over her chest. She doesn't wear the pajamas available. Instead, she's retreated to the clothes she came in: a loose shirt with a hint of color to it and a pair of loose pants. In another time, in another life, these are the clothes she'll have died in.

(She doesn't know that, of course.)]

There are better ways to get our attention. [She does sound vaguely amused, but it's hard to tell with Lexa. Someone with his disposition doesn't seem ... normal to her, to say the least. People with senses of humor and belligerent sarcasm don't make it very far in her world. Or, well, among her people.]

You feel us, don't you? Feel me. [It's vague, but she gives him a moment to recognize what she's referring to. She assumes he'll put it together. If not, then they'll have a greater hill to climb.]

[dbag]

[ He leans against the wall, the immediate response on the tip of his tongue being, "Whoever felt you, it wasn't me." Even after it registers that she's talking about a different sort of feeling, the strange mental tug coming from her, there's still a quip just begging to be let out. Fortunately for Lexa, no such quip is made; Rhys crosses his arms in discomfort, acutely aware that she feels him. (And not in the funny way.) He's familiar with the feeling of someone being too mentally close for comfort, and while this isn't exactly the same, it's similar enough to drag up memories he'd rather forget. ]

Nnnope.

[ Lying smoothly is more Fiona's forte than his; she can effortlessly spin a bullshit tale in moments, but his underhandedness is of a different variety. He tries to channel her now, but it's futile. While some might argue it's the same thing, he's a company man, not a con artist. ]

I have no idea what you're talking about. Honestly. You must have me mistaken for some other... really handsome guy.

[ While it hasn't yet, he's counting on the feeling fading as he pushes it away. Minds should be kept as separate as possible. ]

Happens all the time.

[adamance]

[The look she offers him is one that is impatient. Then again, Lexa is the type of person who always looks impatient, like she has some agitation crawling up inside of her constantly seeking a source. In this case, she is actually impatient. She's annoyed, because while she doesn't like the experience of being a Host or having a thing lodged inside of her body that forces her to feel other people's emotions, she gains nothing from denying it.

Denial doesn't lead to control, after all.]

We've never met before. [To the point.]

Are you going to listen, or continue to waste your time making up lies? I can leave you to someone else to deal with. [For explanations. She can come find him later when he's more willing to listen.]

[dbag]

[ The stern response from such a young girl is unexpected, her demeanor certainly harsher than Fiona's or Sasha's. (And they'd tried to kill him.) She isn't even mean, really, just stony, which is somehow worse; the lack of emotion in her words makes her seem invulnerable. Even Jack had gotten angry — I knew you were an idiot the moment you plugged me into your empty little head, I should've grabbed you by the skull and bashed your brains against a friggin' rock — and he'd been a psychopath. There's something very unnerving about someone as controlled as her.

Rhys, however, is not nearly as controlled. He raises both eyebrows and unconsciously leans away from her, frowning deeply. ]

You are terrifying, has anyone ever told you that?

[ It gets results, he'll give her that. ]

[adamance]

Most people don't waste their words on such things.

[Even so, a sense of satisfaction forms between them. Lexa is partly amused, and partly pleased that some of the effect that she had back home is the same here. So far, she's had little confirmation of that. The Prince talks down to her as if she's a petulant child (which is irritating, because it has no place among her people to treat someone young like that), and many of the others have too troubled of lives to really focus on their fear of one person.

It isn't even that Lexa demands that people fear her. It's more the fact that fear can come from a place of danger, and from a place where someone recognizes her strength. In her culture, that is important.]

So, what'll it be? [It's very easy for her to loop back to it. After all, she hasn't actually gotten results yet. Damnit, Rhys.]

c

[circumspector]

[ She hasn't left her small room so much in the last few days except to train, otherwise she sleeps in fitful bouts and trying to get her energy back. Healing the damage she'd done to herself and had done to herself via the loss of her broodmate.

He's not, but she feels him like a faint niggle in the back of her mind. Not close, not like the others, but there, as she's bent over her desk, the strewn parts of her broken datapad around her. Her sleeves pushed up to expose the marks down one side of her. Tinkering with faint murmuring to the broken parts like they might understand her. Content to stay like that for awhile, before quietly she speaks up a little bit louder. ]

You know -- [ It echoes faintly with the brush of her mind against his as she sits up straight and turns back to him. Not mad, for all her tone is gently chiding, the rake of her dark hair across one eye, exhausted, though, dark under her eyes, but there's a pleasant smile for company. ] -- I can hear you.

[dbag]

Hah. I know, [ he lies, rolling his eyes like it's obvious. ] I know that.

[ The appropriate reaction in this situation is to go about his own way, but he doesn't; there's a faint recognition there, and while he can't quite place her, there's something familiar about her. He narrows his eyes, conspicuously studying her face. It's right there at the tip of his tongue, close but just out of reach. There's a faint connection with everyone he's met, links that are varying degrees of uncomfortable, but this is different — he's seen her.

He opens his mouth to mention it, ask if they've met, but before he gets the chance, his gaze drifts down to her arm. Completely failing at hiding the fact that he's been intently staring at her, he looks back up, raising an eyebrow. ]

Nice tattoos.

[circumspector]

[ She, on the other hand, is completely oblivious. Leaning comfortably against the crook of the chair, watching him... watch her. Which is... well she's certainly getting used to other people in front of her. Solid and real, it's strange to be looked at as much as to do the looking. There's no off button anymore. ]

What? Oh, no they're not... I was born with these. [ She folds a leg up, tugging up her leggings that little bit further to show where they wrapped around her legs. ] I'm a siren, where I come from, we get these markings when we're born, it's how you can know one of us.

[ Leaves it long enough to see before she tugs it back down, setting her foot back on the floor. Turning up to smile at him again. ] But my name is Angel. [ starts there, it's probably all a little confusing to begin with. ] You're new, right?

[dbag]

Uhhhh, [ comes his answer, having entirely checked out after she introduced herself. God, it's right there, he just can't remember— ] Oh. Yeah. If by 'new' you mean I just ripped a cord out the back of my head, yeah.

[ He lacks more manners than usual at the moment, and it's all very rude the way he absent-mindedly replies as if he's somewhere else. He is somewhere else, digging through his memories for her. ]

This is gonna drive me crazy, [ he mutters under his breath, exasperated. Angel. Angel. Angel. It sounds so familiar, and he thinks he can even remember someone saying it — not her, but someone else, soft and with affection. It's with that memory that he can finally place where he saw her. He snaps his (non-robotic) fingers before pointing at her, incredibly proud of himself for placing her. ]

I saw you! On Helios. [ A pause. ] That sounds creepy. I mean, I saw you because I work for Hyperion. Work...ed. Past-tense. Worked for Hyperion.

[circumspector]

[ She's about to make some poke, that with all those cybernetic, she'd think he'd be used to having things plugged into his head.

But then he comes out with that -- and there can't be words at the moment she wants less to hear. She is trying so hard to put Helios and Hyperion behind her. Here, she can be a new person, she didn't envy those that came with people from their home. Like she'd told Steve, she wouldn't be missing anyone anytime soon.

Far less, someone that worked for Hyperion. That knew her -- how could he? Anyone that worked for Hyperion knew less about her than the vault hunters did. Her shoulders snap, going stock stiff, mouth opening for a moment, trying to even begin to start. She might handle this better on another day, but not after the mission, not after Romy had gone into a coma. She's brittle, stretched thin, and it's all a little more than she can handle. ]

That's... not possible, you can't have. [ she begins to stand there, pushing herself up out of her chair, hands curling under the lip of her desk. ] How... how do you know about me? Did Jack tell you about me? [ No, he said worked, past tense, he'd left. ] Or the Vault Hunters? Lilith?

B

[whowhatnow]

[There's something new. Someone new. Nathaniel can sense it through the link. And where there's a new person, there's new things to find out. What a beautiful way to solve his problem of boredom.]

[It's not hard to search him out, even without the bond, because the guy is sticking out like a sore thumb. Nice. He thinks he likes this guy already.]

[Nathaniel just grins widely when he's acknowledged, even throwing in a cheerful little wave.]

Boy, I hope it was a hot duck. I wonder, how do you make out with a creature that has no lips?

[dbag]

[ Rhys frowns slightly, internally snarking, "Oh, good, he heard that!" (Were a certain someone still riding shotgun in his head, he'd have never heard the end of it.) He can't find it in himself to return the wave; instead, he puts his hand against the wall, leaning against it in a way that ends up looking more tryhard than casual. Trying to recover from his fumble, he puts a smile back on his face. ]

Duck-kissing logistics are actually a lot more intuitive than they seem. And yes, super hot duck. She never wore clothes, like, ever. ...Y'know, because she's a duck?

[ His hand falls away from the wall to hang limply by his side. ]

I didn't make out with a duck. I feel like that needs to be clarified.

C: what's behind door number— what even is that thing you're staring at, Rhys

[narcissithstic]

[More hosts. For all the emptiness of the station when Ren had drawn his first breath with open eyes, he notices now the near-incessant pull of new minds as more broods grow, blossoming eagerly as if the Nest itself had somehow awoken from a grim slumber and only now returns to task with feverish determination.

Rhys, however, is extraordinarily loud.

It's the taste of electricity humming that first alerts Ren, punctuated by curiosity and anxiousness and a mind that seems incapable of slowing, as noisy as a child running flat-footed down the halls— only it's stuck there at the wide entrance to Ren's chosen territory (because he needed a place to put grandpa's hat tyvm) hovering. Watching. And when Kylo Ren finally turns to meet the stare of his mannerless guest it's with the full, unsettling contours of that chrome-lined visor, wrapped within the layers of his (recently) mended robes. That he bears down on the intrusion with the weight of his own thoughts is a given; like pinching a pressure point he stands, glowering in faceless irritation.]

What.

kylo ren's eight pack

[dbag]

[ It's hard not to stare, in his defense; at first, it's hard to make out anything besides dark cloth, with little becoming clear even after the chrome of the helmet breaks up the endless black. I wonder how long it takes to get dressed in the morning, he thinks. It seems far too much work to look far too ridiculous. Still, if it's meant to be unsettling, it succeeds. For a moment, he doesn't respond at all, eyes jumping all over — unsure of where he's meant to look if he can't see a face — before settling on a point at the top of Ren's head.

At least, he's fairly sure it's a head. Who's to say what's beneath all that?

All he wants to do is ask what the get-up's about (was Hot Topic having an 'everything must go' sale?) but he's thrown off when Kylo stands, mind overbearing in a way no one else's has been. It gives him pause, thoughts suddenly evaporating into nothing. Rhys is sure this must be the longest anyone has ever taken to respond to a question, so he racks his brain for something to say. All that comes out is ] ...What.

[narcissithstic]

[Hours, Rhys. It takes hours for him to get into his cosplay.

Like a grip cinching down, bearing forcefully across muscle, Ren's mind latches onto Rhys without any semblance of hesitation. As a habit he dislikes open disrespect, and while his conversational counterpart might not have intended to show it (or maybe he did, depending on what dialogue choices were floating on the screen just now) all that matters is that he's given the impression.

And wandered into Ren's space.] You were staring.

[He cannot harm Rhys. He cannot lash out without further upsetting Cathaway and he will not be the one to suffer yet another blow for someone else's hand, but beyond that...

Ren lifts a hand, locking the Force down over Rhys as a tangible pressure holding him neatly in place as Kylo Ren strides forward, closing the distance between them.] Do I amuse you?

[dbag]

[ Rhys tries very hard not to look intimidated. (In truth, he also has to try not to look amused, because it's all very supervillain-y. Even he has the awareness not to say, "Yes, you do amuse me," but only just.) It doesn't completely work, and his expression comes across as nonchalant but very forced. If his expression doesn't give him away, though, his mind certainly does.

On the subject of minds, Ren's is overbearing. If minds were tangible, visible things, Rhys' would be leaning as far away from Ren's as possible. It gives the feeling that someone's breathing down his neck, or holding a finger right up to his eyeball as they say, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!"

The point is, it isn't pleasant. ]

Oh, you're doing the... thing. The mind thing.

[ It isn't an answer to his question; he skips over it like it was never asked in the first place. It seems better that way. ]

Yeah, I'm not really a fan of that.

b

[ex_rate800]

A duck, huh?

[ There's something in the way she smiles that says so long as they know each other even passingly, she isn't going to let that one go. Jessica makes her way further down the hallway — she hasn't been looking for him or anyone in particular, she's been exploring just like he was, still feeling pretty new to this whole gig. But she keeps her insecurity about being in such a vastly new space down under wraps, projects confidence, ease in the movement of her hips. ]

Was there tongue involved?

[dbag]

[ There's something familiar about the way she radiates confidence, genuine or otherwise, that sets him at unexpected ease. She has the swagger of a woman who, against all odds, Rhys actually likes — whom he may never see again, now — and the reminder makes him warm to her already, even unconsciously. (What can he say? He likes snark.) ]

Do ducks have tongues? I just realized I've never seen a duck tongue. [ It's actually somewhat unsettling to think about. He grimaces. ] Because I didn't actually make out with a duck. And I don't crap diamonds. The toe thing, though? I'll let you guys wonder.

[ex_rate800]

Deny it all you like. I know your secrets now.

[ Yep, never letting it go. Really, she's mostly amused that his go-to when he thinks he's alone is ... to yell absurd made-up secrets. Most people tend to have more of a dark underbelly. She's seen fetishists and abusers and gross bodily habits peering into the windows of the unsuspecting world, but no one ever claimed to shit diamonds. ]

I ate duck tongue in Chinatown once. Kinda tasted like a chicken tender.

[ So if you think about it, she's been closer to making out with a duck than he has. ]

I'd say you should try it, but good luck finding any interesting food on board this alien ant farm.

[dbag]

[ His stuffy, boring palate can't take the thought of eating duck tongue; he frowns, trying not to look too disgusted but failing. Rhys is never a spontaneous risk-taker unless the situation could somehow benefit him, and from what he can tell, there's no favorable outcome. The ending is always the same: he'd have to live knowing he ate a duck's tongue. (He's more of a steak guy, anyway.)

He brightens a bit after her last comment, though, nodding as if to say, "Right?" ]

Yeah, is that, like... everything? Everyone eats the same stuff, and walks around wearing those ugly PJs?

b

[frakkincylons]

[ uh. so this is new. and the guy seems new as well, not that sam could really talk, having woken up yesterday. but he'd distantly felt another added when he woke up this morning, so, he supposes, this is the one.

at least he seems like he's having fun. ]

That so? Might want to get that crapping rocks thing looked at. Can't be normal.

[ jussayin, bro. not that he thinks he was serious about absolutely any of that. ]

Got anything else, or is it just the toes, diamonds and ducks?

[dbag]

I don't know, I'm, you know, I'm a complicated man.

[ It's the babbling of a person who just got walked in on during a home-alone-singing-cooking-bacon-naked-dancing party, although it's mildly preferable due to the presence of clothing. (And mildly undesirable due to the lack of bacon, so maybe it's more of a tie?) He adopts a clearly practiced "casual" pose, arms crossed. ]

And I'm not giving all my secrets away for free. I'm gonna need some— cigarettes? Or... toilet wine. Or whatever.

[ Hardened criminal, right here. ]

[frakkincylons]

Uh huh. Seems like it.

[ complicated... possibly a little nuts. thankfully Sam's own brood is at it's quota for both nutjobs and additional people. so too bad for whatever brood ended up with this guy. ]

Good luck finding either. There's not exactly a convenience store on the station.

[ to be honest, sam has found a left behind pack of cigarettes, but frankly, he's not sharing. needs to feed his own addiction. he's nice, but he's not that nice. as for the toilet wine - ] A couple of us found a still earlier today. Might be able to get some moonshine brewing, but I'm not sure how worth it it'll be to drink.

[dbag]

Oh, yeah, great. Getting... getting crunk is definitely, like, right up there on my to-do list here.

[ Call him crazy, but somehow, the Station doesn't exactly scream "turn down for what." To clarify: ]

I was kidding. About the cigarettes and toilet wine. You know, like in prison?

[ He laughs a little at his own joke, the most unappealing thing a person can do. The laughter fades out awkwardly; his gaze drops to his shoes for a moment. (In his defense, they're nice shoes.) ]

Yeah, I immediately regret explaining the joke.

[frakkincylons]

Don't know about getting crunk, but buzzed isn't bad to deal with the whole-- [ vague hand gestures at the whole of the station ] --everything.

[ it's not exactly terrible here, but it is weird as hell, and not exactly that cheery of a place. even on Galactica, they had their own jet juice made up just to relax sometimes. plus, the make shift bar. that was always great. ]

Don't worry about it. Watching that happen was worth the funny I missed on the first part.

[ said with a small, amused half-smile. bro, you're kind of weird, but maybe you're okay. ]

I'm Sam. You new?