station72 | hatch log, ota

Entry tags:

hatch log, ota

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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He brightens at the mention of Nakayama — not so much the guy, just the fact that he won't have to explain it. ]

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.

[ There's a sympathetic wince, breathing out slow. Somehow she should have figured that would bite the universe in the hand one day. Nakayama was crazy but... gifted. Utterly devoted. A good match for Jack's insanity then. Shit, she should have seen it coming, should have found some way to have his experiments blow him up one day before he'd ever finished his AI. ]

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. ]

[ He doesn't interject and tell her that having Handsome Jack in his head was, at one point, something he would've wanted — not long ago, he'd have jumped at the chance to meet Jack, whatever form he happened to take. He's still trying to ferret out her feelings on the matter, and besides, he's trying to put his days of owning actual Handsome Jack merchandise behind him.

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?

[ It's like hearing the sky has fallen. She knew he would, one day, she had done everything in her power to make sure he did. She feels -- shock first -- like a serious injury.

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.

Oh. Okay.

[ 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.

[ It rolls off her, something between satisfaction, rage and regret. Turning over them inside of her, a rolling motion, like there's some great avalanche that can't quite be stopped. Takes an effort to force herself still, not slip further into something first.

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. ]

[ He takes a moment to study her face wordlessly, expression discerning, trying to determine whether she's serious or not. Apologizing for Jack's existence is so ridiculous that he figures it must be, but after a second of staring, he decides she's genuine. Misguided, but genuine. ]

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.

[ She's too keenly aware of how much if it is her fault, having a thousand eyes on Pandora showed her over and over the miseries she had caused.

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. ]

[ Rhys exhales sharply and frowns, feeling very inadequate at making her feel any better — or just getting her to stop making that depressing face. It's then that he gives up, entire body slumping a little as he stops trying to radiate 'good vibes.' It's not his forte, but at the very least, they were decent vibes. Indifferent vibes, at worst. There's probably something to be said about quitters never winning, but he's happy to quit while he's behind. ]

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.

[ She can't expect much more than that. Pandora would always be Pandora, it was like that long before Jack was there, and she'd take her small measure comfort that it would continue on well past him. ]

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.

[ Not used to a planet like Pandora, she says; he doubts anyone is except for those who live there. He's been on it for longer than he'd ever thought he would be, and still finds himself a complete fish out of water. It's possible to acclimate to certain things, but you never get used to an entire planet populated by people who want to kill you. Not thinking about Pandora, though — that's going a bit far. Maybe it's insensitive of him, but if he had to experience it, he thinks a few people can handle him thinking about Pandora.

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?

Sort of. [ She shrugs and - thinks of how to word it. Well, if he was familiar with Jack in his hand -- god that still sounded like the worst thing she ever heard of -- worrying at her lip to think about how to phrase it.

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.

[ Rhys actually stands there and listens, expression contemplative, mind only wandering a few times — which is to be expected, with the loud way his other thoughts beckon for his attention all the time. If Fiona could see him now, he thinks, she'd have to eat that damn hat she loves so much; he can too be thoughtful, when he wants to. He even brings his flesh hand up to stroke his chin to complete the 'Thinker' pose. ]

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. ]

[ She nods slowly, it's fair, whilst he's still adjusting. She preferred the mental communication, granted, but she wasn't exactly normal to start with. ]

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.

[ The markings, those are old news — he'd already asked about them — but her pseudo-Rapunzel story isn't. She mentions it so offhandedly, too, without any actual explanation. He puts his hands up to stop her. ] Wait, wait, wait.

[ He looks at her, yet again the same way he's looked at her about a million times by this point. Like he can't quite believe she isn't fucking with him — after all, her congeniality has been sharply different from the Pandoran way of communicating, which seems to range from affectionate sarcasm to straight-up stabbing you — but can't quite believe she is, either. ]

One room, that's hyperbole, right? [ Thinking on it, he pauses. Jack was her father, he reminds himself. (It's difficult to remember, when it seems they're nothing alike.) ] —Actually, no, never mind, I believe it.

[ He narrows his eyes for a moment, looking very focused, like he's arguing with himself. Then, he lets out a small sigh. ] Okay. So, you can talk to me... mentally, or whatever. Just you, though, I'm pretty sure no one else has that 'one room' excuse.

[ Her smile pulls wane, he gets there, by himself. Fiddling absently, not quite meeting his eye. She doesn't really want people to understand what that means, how limited that truly makes her dealing with this -- this contact, this nearness, the way even now she wants to fiddle with the material of his clothes in a need that is somewhere between wonderment with the world and desperately making up for lost time. It's probably easier to pretend it's not what it is, for everyone's sake. Granted he might be the only one to believe her when she said it. Patiently, with a nod of her head she lets him come to terms with it, then gives as some sort of framing to it all. ]

Control Core 4N631. Jack kept that way for years.

[ How monstrous that could be, how he turn something like love and twist it over itself. ]

I hope not, trust me, it doesn't make for a thrilling existence. You tend to binge watch a lot of echonet shows. [ Damn, now she'll never see the end of Eden Shore, oh well. ] But don't worry, I'll keep it no more than brief conversations if needs be, it's not much different than accessing the network, and how I used to communicate before, so I tend to keep it ... casual? [ That... really didn't sound right. Well, whatever, going with that now. ] That's where it's important to learn the control, helps keep it brief to what you want to say.

[ presses her lips together, shyly almost. Maybe it was going too far. ] Would you like me to show you?

[ Hearing Angel talk about her life makes him feel a bit ashamed about how much he disparages Pandora. It's better to see potential murderers every day than to see no one at all, he figures. There doesn't seem to be a proper way to address it — or, at least, he can't think of one that isn't a strained face and, "Ooh, that's rough" — so he doesn't comment on it further, thankful that she keeps talking.

When she mentions controlling thoughts again, he presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows. ]

Yeah, I can't really even keep to what I want to say outside of my mind, it's just like... Blergh. [ He pantomimes throwing up. It's all very becoming. ] —Word-vomit, that was word-vomit. Not just me... randomly puking.

[ It feels like he unwittingly illustrated his point, and the thought of everyone being privy to his stream of somewhat nonsensical thoughts is not exactly appealing. Not sounding entirely confident in his answer: ]

Sooo, show me? I guess.

[ Her eyebrows go up as he -- over explains. Well, couldn't blame him from being nervous or awkward particularly, it was a new place, there was a lot to be confused and weirded out by.

Settles back, she can deal with it all... later. There was a lot there, a lot that she needed to take the time to think about it but for now, she'd rather focus outwards where it was safe. Helping him was better than dwelling by a long shot. ]

That's okay, we can work on that. Here why don't you sit down and I can walk you through it?

[ she sits back, because for one thing -- he was far too tall, and she was going to get a crick in her neck looking up at him for much longer. Takes a seat across from him on her bed. Rooms weren't exactly big enough to warrant much more space anyway. Crosses her legs underneath her. ]

So close your eyes for me, and take a deep breath and to start with, just feel all the voices, the nest. Hear it, and then once you have it, imagine turning it down with your mind. Like it's nothing more than a news station.

[ She hovers there, both in body and mind, watching and being aware if she needs to step in. The faint flutter of a hummingbird hovering. Meticulous and patient. ]

[ He hovers awkwardly for a moment before sitting himself, pulling his knees up to his chest, curling into himself as he looks at her, listening. He truly does try, nodding intently as she talks, but it isn't exactly intuitive. Maybe for her, but for Rhys, being tapped into others' minds is more a source of discomfort than anything else. If he could only hear them without them hearing him, it might be better, but as it is, his mind feels very exposed.

He closes his eyes, takes a breath and— laughs. As he breathes out, he almost snorts, not because it's actually funny in any way but because it's so incredibly uncomfortable to be sitting there across from her, trying to listen to mind radio. ]

Sorry, it's just— maybe you could not look at me? Yeah, no, that just makes it weirder. I just... never mind, never mind. I got it.

[ His hands come up to wave in front of him as he shakes his head, like that will somehow clear his thoughts. Closing his eyes again, he takes a breath, still smiling like he's holding back an uncomfortable laugh. It's an improvement over actually laughing. He's suddenly very aware of his thoughts, like when someone reminds you that you're breathing and blinking and it becomes much less automatic.

Okay, he thinks. Okay. ...Stop thinking 'okay.' Pressing his lips together tightly and wrinkling his brow in concentration, he tries to do as she says, 'feeling' the nest. (He wishes people would stop referring to it as feeling, like he's feeling up all of their minds.) That's the easy part, really, letting it all flood in. It feels unnatural but effortless at the same time, but it's mostly just weird.

Turning it down, though, that's another matter — she talks about it like it's supposed to be easy, but there isn't actually a volume control for his thoughts. It takes a moment, but it does start to work. Right before he loses concentration and everything goes back to normal. (Well, as normal as this can be.) Eyes still closed, he grimaces, and asks, ] You guys can't hear the song stuck in my head, right?

[ She feels the brush of his thoughts as they go tumbling past. Being like this with others really through into contrast how much she spent monitering everything about herself, thoughts included. It was probably to be expected, but even so. Might be the first time in a long time she was thankful for her abilities in how much they had helped her cope with this transition. ]

.... It's not as bad as Main Frame? [ She gives him an encouraging smile, which isn't really yes or no, but she'd spare him that for his pride. ] But that was good, I know it's a little overwhelming to start with, you will get there, trust me. We're all miserable when we start out.

[ But that was one skill down, there wasn't much else but practise for it. ] Do you want to try talking mentally now?

[ It feels like an "A for effort!" when she says he did well, but he figures it's better than her rolling her eyes or making a sarcastic comment like some people would. (Like he probably would, were he in her shoes.) Still, opening his eyes and quirking a brow, he says, ] You know, you don't have to be nice about it. I'm, like, way used to verbal beat-downs. Totally numb to it at this point.

[ He'd get pissy about it, actually, but it sounds better to be cool and unaffected. ]

—But, uh. About the mind talking thing. Is that a thing people actually do?

[ His expression is somewhere between amused and disturbed, appropriate since his feelings on the matter are very mixed. On one hand, it's telepathy, like they're superheroes or something. On the other hand, he's had enough of someone else's voice in his head for the rest of his life. ]

[ And maybe that's the other side to her niceness, she looks up, fixes him directly, lips pressed together into a smile with an eyebrow raised at him -- ]

( What do you think? )

[ Purposefully doesn't open her mouth, just reaches her mind out. Doesn't dig, she had promised not to, just echoes oddly back to him. A raw pour of static to her voice, or maybe too many things speaking together that crackle together. Being in siren as she said, more in mind than in body. ]

[ One day, he'll probably have had this entire family line speaking in his head. It feels strange to have someone's thoughts directly pointed at him, for his inner voice to sound very much not like his own for a moment.]

Ooh, that's a tough one, I'm gonna say no? [ It's an attempt to sound lighthearted and breezy about the whole thing, but it falls flat, as hivemind telepathy is hardly a lighthearted and breezy subject. ] —No, yeah, it's a thing. You just think it at someone? Okay, I'm just gonna... do that. Easy peasy.

[ He takes in a breath sharply, mostly for the dramatic effect, holding it like he's about to talk back telepathically— then he lets it go, holding up a finger like he just needs a second as he tries to clear his mind, an arduous task. There's too many distracting things just floating by. ]

( Thoughts. Thinking. God, my nose itches. Oh, I didn't meant to say that. Think that? Think-say that. I re— ) [ Interjecting: ] —gret this train of thought.

[ She stays quiet, nodding once to let him go at his own pace. Really, it is a little unfortunate, first Jack and now her too? ]

( That's it, you're doing really well. )

[ Still far too nice, apparently, she doesn't really see the point of being awful. Jack had done that plenty enough for everyone.

Switches out of it as easy though, settling back to let him -- recover maybe. His mind certainly was a jumble of his nerves. This was stressful for anyone the first time around anyway. ]

When you want to talk to the nest, just push the thought to the front of your mind, direct it out, it'll help us all hear it. You'll find all our minds feel and sound differently, that will help you distinguish who you are speaking to. So when you only want to speak to one person in particular, reach for that one mind and push your thoughts at them directly.

[ "Really well" is an overstatement. He shoots her a knowing look, well aware of his inability to control anything whizzing by in his mind, especially when he's trying to telepathically communicate — he still plans on avoiding it as much as possible, despite her tips. ]

Man, you're like a flesh and blood setup wizard. [ He can imagine her popping up in the corner of his screen with a speech bubble containing 'Helpful Tips'. ] I mean, in a good way? Thanks.

[ For a moment, he looks like he's thinking about getting up and leaving, but wants to say something first — concentrating, he thinks of how to correctly phrase it. ]

So that was super weird, right? [ Not the best start, but he pushes forward. ] I just mean, like, you know. I Jack-attacked, all up in your face. I'm just saying, I'm pretty great at pretending uncomfortable situations never happened, lots of practice. So is that gonna be a thing, or not a thing, orrrr...

hatch log, ota

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