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hatch log, ota
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: Day 166
SUMMARY: Desecration of perfectly good PJs, crapping of diamonds, and peeping.
WARNINGS: nunzo
( A ) NESTING DECK
( B ) HALLWAY[ 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. ]
( C ) LIFE SUPPORT[ 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.
( D ) WILDCARD[ 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. ]
[ do whatever you want! choose your own adventure! go hog wild! if you need me, i'm atregnant. ]
c
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.
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[ 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.
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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?
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[ 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.
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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?
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He feels as if he's supposed to apologize for some reason, but "Sorry for being aware of your existence, I guess?" isn't particularly moving. The only true Vault Hunters he's met — not amateurs fumbling around in the dark like him and Fiona — weren't 'talky' types, so he shakes his head, hands going up in the universal sign of surrender. ]
There... was a picture of you on Jack's desk? [ The pitch of his voice raises at the end, unintentionally turning what should be a statement into a question. It's the way she looks making him uncertain whether he should be saying it at all, his eyes trained on the way her hands grasp the edge of her desk. He can hardly work out what she's feeling beyond not happy, but he thinks maybe angry or threatened, two emotions that lead to bad things in his experience. In an attempt to seem friendly, he says, ] —You were little, it was cute.
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A photo? [ she frowns slightly, trying to what on earth he was talking about. Jack erased every part of her existence save from the vaguest mentions. After awhile, anyone with the slightest bit of sense stopped asking if he had a wife or kids at all.
But not completely. She remembers it, after a moment to think about his office. She remembers that day when Jack still acted like her father, not her jailer. She'd been happy, laughing. It had fallen apart quickly, after that.
It begged the question of what on earth he was doing behind Jack's desk to start with to see it. ] That was -- a long time ago. [ Then up, focusing on him again. Far more intently, like she might just be mentally picking him apart bit by bit. ] Are you from Pandora?
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Hell no. [ His voice is tinged with the leftover remnants of judgment he hasn't fully eradicated yet. His misadventures on Pandora have opened his eyes, sure, but it's still Pandora and he's still an ex-Hyperion lackey. He can only be so open-minded so soon. Gesturing to himself, he asks, ] Do I look Pandoran?
[ While he likely looks more Pandoran than he'd like to think — dapper fashion isn't easy to come by there, after all — he still comes across as too much of a flash bastard to have grown up there. It is, however, his current planet of dwelling; that complicates things a little. He takes in a hiss of air through gritted teeth. ]
...I mean, technically, yes.
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[ She takes a steadying breath, settling back. ] Look I'm not going to hurt you, you can trust me about that. [ She settles her shoulders and makes the effort to be calm, less attacking. Doesn't think she's particularly great at being threatening, but her anxious response won't help them muddle through this. Catches her arms against each other to cross her chest, taking an even breath. ] I just wasn't... expecting anyone. Much less that worked for Hyperion. I just want to know who you are -- [ swallows, careful, he's new, and she's been practising willing her own emotions back. ] -- and who you are to... my father.
[ It's an effort not to cringe from those words. ]
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Okay. Well. My name's Rhys. Jack probably didn't say anything about me, because... he... didn't know I existed.
[ Okay. Right. Doing well. He pauses again, grimacing at the awkwardness of it all. ]
Anyway, heeee was downloaded into my head for a while? I know that sounds weird, and— trust me, it was. But it's also true.
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Ah. ]
It's Pandora, I think weird is just part of the experience. Beside, I used to be handler for the vault hunters. I'm used to weird.
[ An attempt to put him at ease, encourage him to agree. ] So, I am going to go with a shot in the dark here -- you found Nakayama's... prototypes?
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Nice aim. —With the shot in the dark, I mean, because you're right.
[ It still feels incredibly awkward describing this to his daughter. Even just watching her stand there makes him shift uncomfortably; how do you say, "Hi, I killed the last part of your dad that was still alive, wanna be friends?" ]
I, uh. Borrowed his ID drive. Long story short, I needed identification, so I jacked it into my head. No pun intended.
[ The corners of his mouth turn down as he tries to conjure up a delicate way to say the next part. Instead of sounding casual like he'd intended, he sounds more like a little boy from a movie about demon possession. Jack's not home right now. ]
He's not here anymore, if you were wondering.
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I'm sorry, not one should have to go with having Jack in their head.
[ Something slides away then, in fingers curling up in her sides. Sucks in a breath, he's not here anymore, shuts her eyes a second, bracing herself against the twisted feeling in her chest. Feels hunted, small, even if he hadn't done anything in particular, this and just this alone force something to shake in her fingers.
Might as well be a story about demon possession, it'd be easier to say the Devil was at work in Jack than how somebody could actually do all those things. ]
Just tell me... is he dead?
[ It's flat, and she doesn't meet his gaze for saying it, but it was without question. She wouldn't have him here, she wouldn't stomach it. ]
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Instead, Rhys keeps his mouth shut, which is quite a feat considering all the questions on the tip of his tongue. Some of them, he'll admit, are ones he'd had before the debacle. (Does Handsome Jack like cereal? No way, I like cereal! Someone get a pod, because we're two peas.) Others aren't as flattering. All these thoughts are killed, however, the moment she asks if he's dead. ]
Yyyyeah...? [ He furrows his brow, like it's obvious information. ] Super dead. I mean, he was dead before I even—
[ An abrupt pause. ]
And you didn't know that. Wow. This is going so well. [ He clears his throat. ] Yeah, he's— he's dead. I'm... sorry, I guess?
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Once upon a time, she loved her father, and he'd loved her. He had, he always did, he reminded her so often. Once upon a time: he'd been the man that brushed her hair, tucked her in at night. It's all sickening fairy stories for how long ago it would be now. It wouldn't hurt so much if he hadn't.
The noise that comes out of her mouth is the edge of hysterical and she brings her fingers up to her mouth to smother it, blinking something rapidly to get rid of the sting out of them. He thought he was a God, and he'd built an Empire off of her purple tinted blood and alien scrawl and -
She'd hated him past the point of burning, past just betrayal. God it's searing like bile up the back of her throat, it's like the first clear breath she's had in years, she has not stood on mountains, nor does she think she will be forgiven, but this feels like what standing in that thin clean air must be like. Dizzying, sharp cold in the back of her throat. ]
The vaults hunters finished it. It's done.
[ Obviously, obviously they had, she knew them, every little detail of them, knew their movements better than her own. Second-hand life she took from their victories and losses. Draws herself up sharp, not so tall, but there's something there, like all her own plans come to fruition, despite costing her everything that forces her to extend down every inch of her markings. It is whole and it is merciless and it's the only thing she can think to say. ]
Good.
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[ There's a part of him that, despite being intimately familiar with Jack's sociopathy, is surprised by her response. Good. It's how he'd felt, of course, but Jack was never his father. Never family. Hating him was easy. He'd talked about Angel with soft affection, differently than he'd talked about anyone else, and although Rhys knows how the story ends, it still feels like a plot twist.
The intensity of her reaction is palpable, and it leaves Rhys wondering what it's like to grow up as Handsome Jack's daughter. He'd only gotten a small taste of Jack, and he's still trying to get the bitter flavor out of his mouth. She's known Jack her entire life, not as an unreachable idol but as a parent. Not a good one, he presumes — parents aren't supposed to be manipulative and delusional — but a parent nonetheless. (If there's one good thing that came out of it, though, it's the discovery that assholery is apparently nonhereditary.) ]
He did mention you, uh... betrayed him.
[ His voice falters for a moment; it sounds harsh, but there's no other way to phrase it. He doesn't doubt it was warranted, but it's still a betrayal. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifts from one foot to another, feeling unprepared. It isn't the kind of conversation you rehearse in the shower. There's no proper etiquette for this situation; because this situation has literally never happened before, he assumes.
As an attempt to make it sound less of an accusation, he says, ] But so did I, so... [ It seemed like a good idea in his head, but he quickly realizes that it isn't in practice. Gesturing noncommittally: ] We should start a club, or something.
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She's got no shame for what she did, it had taken her too long in planning to get it done. Her fingers curl and loosen out again by degrees, face turning away like what he had stung. It was true, but Jack would say it like that. Put it all on her, like it hadn't been the end of something that had been coming for years. Remembered him all too clearly at the end. I'll still forgive you baby. ] I'm sure he did. [ Oh and she could imagine how he'd say it too. Soft, quiet, like he didn't understand how it had happened. He'd only done everything for her, how could she do that to him? ]
[ She pulls herself back, takes a visible effort in doing so. Trying to cool something twisting in her stomach, not quite an apology perhaps, but an acknowledgement that he wasn't the one that did it to her, no need to lash out at him. To his credit, the joke does ease her some, her shoulders dropping, the edge of a smile she can't quite manage there. Tempers the rest of it, he's new -- the connection with be overwhelming. He doesn't need to be privy to her family problems. ]
Yeah? "I managed to screw over Handsome Jack", how does that sound? [ softens, gently looking at him kinder than that. ] I am sorry though, Jack... I tried to do what I could to stop him. I guess I didn't get to everything.
[ takes too many things upon herself, Lexa had been right about that, she'd never stop feeling guilty because she couldn't put it to words, just what because of her Jack had been able to accomplish. ]
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You've gotta make sure you get the little bits of Jack behind your ears and between your toes.
[ It's an awful joke, possibly the worst thing to say in response, but it's not like he can say he accepts her apology. There shouldn't be an apology in the first place; Rhys is quick to place blame, but even he can see it's not her fault. Jack is a thing that happens to people, like a bad rash you can't get rid of. It's what he does. Did, anyway.
All things considered, he's actually impressed. ]
Anyway. You don't have to be sorry. I mean, he was a total jackass — pun intended this time, heh — but that's all on him.
[ Offering assurance isn't his strong suit. When it comes to firing immature insults back and forth, he's a pro; it's harder when he has to think about other people's feelings. He's still working on the whole 'not being an asshole' thing. It seems like an issue that should be addressed with sensitivity, but being at a loss as to how one addresses anything with sensitivity, he makes jokes instead. Then laughs at his own quips, his own personal laugh track. ]
It's actually sort of cool? Taking down Handsome Jack, that's pretty badass.
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Answers flat, without much else. There hadn't been much glory to taking her own freedom, in fact it's hard to pick it all apart before the offer had come, to take her away. It was just pain, just misery, just bright lights and cold darkness. The triumph of a finally letting him known how much she despised him, how much she'd never forgive him. In her fondest daydreams, she rejects every one of his attempts to make it right. ]
I'll have to take your word for it.
[ It had cost her everything, nothing but the consolation in the notion that she had died for something. But it comes more self-pitying than she really wants to be, she has this life now, no maybe she'd never get the true satisfaction... but others would. ] It doesn't matter, just -- do you know how the others are? Did they... is it better now he's gone? For all of you?
[ It's the only thing that matters, anymore. Granted she wouldn't say happy, just -- a life without Jack. Not like Pandora would ever be peaceful, not even like the vault hunters were good people. ]
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The others. [ It's a question, but phrased so flatly that it almost sounds like a statement. ] That's kind of ambiguous. The other whats? Pandorans? Card-carrying members of the 'Victims of Jack' support group?
[ He shrugs. ]
In general? [ Rhys can't say life changed much for him when the Vault Hunters got Jack. Hyperion found a new asshole to screw people over, and business continued as usual. As for Pandora— ] I mean... Pandora's still kind of a craphole.
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Guess you're right. I suppose I meant... well, is Lilith happy now with Roland, if Mordecai managed to help move on past Bloodwing, if Brick still had his slabs and [ bites her lip in the edge of the smile ] if Tannis is still insane. I can't say I expected Pandora to ever really change, I don't think anyone can really make it do that.
[ A shrug, they were - so very real to her. Heroes, but ones she had helped make, but watching them for so long, they were more than that. Even if only privately, she shared their triumphs and losses with them.
Something occurring to her suddenly then, she looked up, hesitant for a second - before well he should have a bit of warning. ] By now you've probably worked out about the mind thing - [ a brush of her own, careful, all filigreed edges of light, gently give. An invitation and familiarisation of awareness that he can reach for if he ever needed her. ] - be careful thinking about Pandora though. Most people here aren't... used to a planet like that. Some of them don't even know about space travel, granted, but they can find it a little overwhelming even second hand.
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A few flashes of sand, skags, maybe a little gore. They can deal with it.
He furrows his brow, baffled not just by the concept of filtering Pandora out of his thoughts but also by the fact that she allegedly does it. It's coddling, no doubt about it, but it's also really nice. Like, painfully so. If Jack were here, he wouldn't give a shit about anyone's feelings, and here's his flesh and blood, being careful about her thoughts. It's like he stepped into a parallel universe. ]
What, we're supposed to censor our thoughts?
[ Rhys can barely censor the words that come out of his mouth — he wouldn't know how to begin controlling his own thoughts. Quite frankly, he doesn't want to. She might be nice enough to put forth the effort, but he's awkward and jerkish and incapable of self-filtering. He'd also rather ignore the whole 'mind-meld' thing to begin with. ]
I've actually had my fill of other people's minds in my... mind. You know, Jackgate and everything. So, I mean, overwhelming's good, right? Then people won't go around trying to, uh— [ For lack of a better term: ] —thought-feel you. Is that how it works?
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There's something firmer to this, directing. Doing her part, he came from Pandora, he'd suffered something most people couldn't understand, and she might just do it all anyway because she knew the headache he had right now would be awful, raw as broken glass. The tone she adopts is more forward, direct, her mind is her tool, and she maintains it carefully. Nods her head once in acknowledgement of his point -- but in turn seems to be considering it -- before she shakes her head. ]
Only so far as fear ever does. Sometimes sure, it might get you what you want. [ Jack certainly operated with that pretence. ] But the thing is, it'll happen to a certain degree whether you like it or not, and you'll need to accept that, or it becomes much harder to survive, and we need to survive, we need to accept each other to fight together. So learning to censor and control your thoughts and order your mind helps, both in directing and helping others, and protecting your inner most feelings. If not for their sake, then your own, because eventually someone won't find that overwhelming. Take me, for instance, it's nothing that would keep me out. Then they'll just read it all like an open book --
[ shrugs, the acceptance, there is always someone or something more powerful, Pandora taught that. ] -- so learning to process your thoughts, filter what is important, refrain from what is not, will help keep you whole. It can be tricky when you're not used to it, but in the long run, it won't just be polite to others, but you'll be doing yourself a favour.
[ Her fingers lift, gesturing to eyes robotic eye. ] Once you get the hang of it, it's not even that hard. No more than you might use with directing your cybernetics.
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Okay, so, I feel like we can just be real with each other, like, we've got a good rapport going here? [ Anything's a good rapport when the other person isn't trying to murder him, these days. He points a robo-finger at her, then at himself, then at her again. ] So I'm just gonna go ahead and ask that you don't do any reading of this open mind-book.
[ He's going to have to find better terminology than just adding 'mind-' and 'thought-' to everyday words, but it gets the point across for now. ]
Or as little as possible. [ Even this soon, he can tell the togetherness angle is being pushed hard; there's no off-switch, no way of opting out, and he won't fault her for that. ] And I'll do that for you, too. And not just because I don't really know how this works.
[ The hypocrisy of going on about his mental privacy right after spying on strangers in their own rooms is, unfortunately, lost on him. ]
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I can try. [ Granted there wasn't anything particularly fun to be found in her mind - all ancient swirling stones and what it's like to have the biggest asshole in the world for a parent.
... Maybe that just made them good company. ] You'll have to forgive me sometimes, between this --- [ her hand lifts, the flat blue markings run rivers across her palms and over her fingers. ] -- and being locked in one room my whole life? Sometimes I find it more comfortable to talk to people... mentally.
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