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

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.